A/N: This story is currently in the process of being severly rewritten. Some scenes will be changed, others deleted, still others added. About 45 percent will be new.

-oOo-

Ceylon, 1779

Jeffrey stops a moment to wipe the sweat from his face. The basket is heavy on his back. His neck hurts and he wants to put down the basket, but he knows he will never get it up again, and he must continue. There is much more coffee he needs to pick. From a distance a man is shouting at him to get a move on. The man in the next row hisses at him that he shouldn't upset the master anymore. He's going to cause them all trouble. Master surely hasn't forgotten about last week. Neither has Jeffrey. His back hurted so much from the lashes that the first few nights he couldn't sleep. The first day he couldn't even work, he couldn't carry the basket on his back. Which resulted in more lashes, on his legs this time, to incourage him to pick it up anyway. Jeffrey is still planning revolt, though.

Not all the workers see themselves as slaves. Quite a few came to the plantation voluntary to work here. Jeffrey tries to convince them that that doesn't make it okay for the plantation owner to make them work from early morning till late in the evening, to feed them badly and offer them minimal sleeping arrangements. They answer that they were worse off before they came to the plantation, they would go hungry otherwise, they rather don't go hungry. Jeffrey doesn't understand their passiveness. He feels very much alone. He tries to move the basket on his back a little and continues picking the coffeeberries.

When his basket is full Jeffrey goes to the cart at the start of the row to empty it.

"You! Take this cart to the main building."

Why, Jeffrey wants to ask, but he knows better. He will not get much of an answer anyway. He leaves his basket behind and pulls the cart to the main building. There is a small line of men waiting there. Someone tells him to get in line. The plantation owner and another man are approaching them.

"My man servant just got sick, and I had to leave him behind," the man in the linen suit says to the plantation owner. He takes large steps; the planter has to make an effort to keep up. The planter isn't used to this, drops of sweat are already pearling on his forehead. The strang man doesn't seem to be bothered. "Terrible thing it was. He was very useful to me, but not when he's sick. They don't have our strong European constitutions they have. So now I need a new man servant, and I was wondering if you might have any for me." The man stops and turns to the planter.

"You want to buy a new slave?" The planter pants a little.

"I prefer the term man servant. That's what he'd be doing anyway, serving me."

"Well, with your permission, I have lined up a few men for you to look at."

"What about that one?" The man points at Jeffrey.

"You spotted well. He has European parentage, but he is a bit of trouble. Talks a lot about things he knows nothing about."

"As long as he doesn't get sick. I'll just give him so much to do, he doesn't have time to talk. How much do you want for him?"

"100."

"100? For a slave that's a bit of trouble? I'll give you eighty, and that's just because I'm in a hurry, and don't have a lot of time to hackle or take my business elsewhere." At that moment Jeffrey realizes who the man is. He faints.

"I'll take your eighty," the plantation owner says quickly. "Shall I tell a few of my men to carry him to your carriage?"

"No, I'll handle him myself." The man walks over to Jeffrey, hoists him over his shoulder and they both disappear, leaving the planter and his slaves in utter confusion.